


The Cold One

by ReignStorm



Category: Cal Leandros - Rob Thurman, Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: All Gates Lead to (Home), NOT MCU TIMELINE COMPLIANT, Psych Case Notes of Avengers Characters, The Blond Do-Gooder Brigade, vs The Dark-Haired But Beautiful Miscreants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReignStorm/pseuds/ReignStorm
Summary: A little something to whet your appetite for the next several couple of Gates chapters.Enjoy





	The Cold One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All Gates Lead To (Home)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6076683) by [kyrrhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrrhe/pseuds/kyrrhe), [ReignStorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReignStorm/pseuds/ReignStorm). 



The cold one sat calmly in his chair, mouth piece firmly clenched between his teeth. He stared straight ahead, seeing while not seeing, listening carefully to the man that circled around him. He easily tracked the man’s movements, even through the haze, counting steps, words, breaths. But the man was an Untouchable, not to be harmed. He was not to be protected either, but not harmed. Until the cold one was told to.

The man held a little red book in his hands, circling to the front again. The cold one focused on that book, eyes never deviating from their gaze straight ahead. The book was harsh, mean, and harmful. The book also brought calm when the dark sea rumbled too loudly, washing over his depth, and crashed against his skull. The book was unimportant.

The cold one listened, and moved when told. He opened his mouth for the piece to be removed. He sat pliant as leashes were untied from his wrists, elbows, neck, knees, ankles. A screen was lowered. Images flashed across it, layering upon one another like the building blocks of a soul. People in poses, people in motion. Debris and damage. The cold one took it in without impact, memorizing and tagging. Vantage and lines. Defend, hide, extract, attack. Torn metal and flashes of flesh, violent strokes of color.

Green, gold, red. Avoiding each other. Always on opposite sides.

Black, silent, focused. Determined to survive if not win.

Red and gold. Small, blinding lights. An aerial enemy.

White, black, blond. A jagged slice of teeth and blade. Silver. Tearing through the air.

Blue.

The cold one blinked, a flicker of muscle.

Red. White. And blue.

Round. Light. Projectile.

The cold one’s cold arm flexed. He could catch that. Crush it. Take it. He could have that for himself. He could be the strongest again.

…

He is the strongest.

The screen filled with more pictures. Blueprints. Routes. Passcodes. Angles. Strong. Weak. Brittle. Glass is never bulletproof. Glass keeps nothing in, nothing out.

The cold one stands, waits as heavy weapons are loaded on to his body. He does not look at his environment. There is no need to. He knows the ways in, out, and through. His chair is behind him. His sleep is above him. The book is before him. Sitting open in the man’s hands.

The cold one looks over the screen again.

Red. White. And blue.

He blinks.

The book closes.


End file.
